


Distance Makes the Heart...

by levitatethis



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Reality, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-18
Updated: 2010-05-18
Packaged: 2017-10-09 13:15:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/87889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levitatethis/pseuds/levitatethis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mohinder is making a fresh start when his past comes knocking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Distance Makes the Heart...

It is coming up on one year since Mohinder has called Toronto home. The decision to leave New York was not as difficult as one may expect, given the complexity of the relationships he had forged there, but the city was never far from his heart. It had been a mishmash of wonderment and downward spirals as it functioned in the role of a home away from home but it also overwhelmed and there came a day when he could not hold on any longer without risking losing the very last part of himself that remained untouched and unscarred.

He needed to be able to breathe again. He wanted to feel that his life was no longer predetermined by a jagged edge course of expectations that would only drag him further along the slippery slope from which he would never recover. He had wanted to be able to wake up in the morning without feeling the judgment of the world upon him from the get go.

A phone call to Nirshand in India had led to a series of networking contacts and the surprising (and very welcome) discovery that freedom was just around the corner—or just a few hours way, depending on how one chose to look at it. The University of Toronto had a research position open and Mohinder’s work as well as his past professorship at the university in Chennai had not only opened the door for him it had placed him atop the list of candidates. When he finally received the offer he exhaled a breath he had not realized was practically suffocating him from the inside.

He still works in genetics research related to what he had continued from New York but it is no longer doused in frightening, shady figures and worries for his life. Here it is almost normal, though still kept relatively quiet for the sheer nature of what it involves.

With the help of some family savings (his mother had been thrilled at the news) Mohinder rented a house in the Annex. It was close enough to allow for a decent walk to the university and the neighbourhood was an eclectic mix of cultures and socio-economic backgrounds. Just like with New York, the city is the world at his feet.

Numerous coffee shops house wayward students arguing newly discovered intellectual theories and the Bloor Cinema (a repertory theatre saved by the community from closure) showed second run and specialty films throughout the year, including the After Dark film festival that had just started up again and had stretched lineups around the corner and down into the side streets. Students, businessmen, artists, left leaning political activists, and seemingly matured and domesticated couples jostled the sidewalks throughout the day, late into the night and through the early morning hours.

An array of restaurants that boggled his mind checkered the city and at any given time he could be transported abroad by the taste of a specific cuisine while still basking in the comforting protection of the city. All around him regular lives were unfolding, and he was part of it.

His mother had come to visit four months earlier, her first trip out of India since before Chandra’s death. Mohinder saw the uncertainty in her shifting, but ultimately penetrating gaze as he walked her through the neighbourhood, a far cry from life as they had known it in India. But his relaxed vibe must have been apparent (and there may have been relief in her meeting his neighbours—sixty-five year old environmental activist Olivia Chatham and her partner of twenty years Rashida Vikram—who talked her ear off with their adoration and protectiveness of him as well as their adamant belief in changing the world through knowledge and enlightenment—and a sit in protest when necessary) because his mother’s face brightened towards the end of the trip with an encouraging smile and her warm embrace around his shoulders.

He had not realized how much he missed her until she was offering him thoughtful words over meals or joking with him about memories from home. When it had come time for her to leave and she had told him how proud she was of him he had nearly cried right then out of relief. Instead he managed to hold off until her flight was midair.

Her does not intend for Toronto to become his permanent home. He is fully aware that one day he will return to New York, maybe even Chennai, but that time is nowhere nearer now than a year before. For now Toronto suffices as the much needed resting ground needed for him to reconnect with the human race. He laughs with his co-workers (some of whom are becoming more like friends to him) and enjoys talking with his neighbours about their weekend plans. It is precisely what the doctor ordered.

One day he will go back to New York and be much better prepared than his first time around. But not right now. Not today.

Today was a brisk walk in the morning to a second hand bookstore, a brief stop at the university lab to drop off some notes, a fresh made-to-order salad to take on the go and the plan to do nothing more than read on the living room sofa and maybe watch some television.

Book in hand he is three chapters into Charles Van Doren’s, **A History of Knowledge**, when three strong knocks at the front door demand his attention. He half closes the book, using his right index finger to save the spot between pages, and sits up, waiting. Another two knocks and he stands up, placing the book open side down on the sofa, and walks to the front door. It is only halfway open when a face he is not expecting to see greets him with a sly smile.

“Hello stranger.”

“Elle? What are you doing here?”

He does not intend for his reaction to her presence to sound so curt but judging by her continued grin she does not seem to notice his lack of pleasantries.

She steps closer and leans against he doorframe, folding her arms across her chest. “I’ve come to bring you home.”

Mohinder relaxes and tilts his head forward, saying, “I am home.”

She rolls her eyes and shifts her footing so that her back is against the frame and she can look at him as well as the quiet street. “Is that what this is?” she asks rudely.

He watches her profile, so tense ridden, but when she turns her attention back to him she appears less sure.

“Maybe I can come in anyway?”

He hears an unmistakable plea in her tone and instinctively steps back, holding the door with his left hand and gesturing to the inside of the house with his right. She walks in and heads straight through to the kitchen at the back. He contemplates her a moment then closes the door and follows suit.

Elle is already sitting at the kitchen table (on it, to be more precise) when Mohinder arrives and he settles across from her, leaning against the cabinet drawers and resting both his hands on the edge. They eye each other for a minute and Mohinder tries to get a read on her.

He has not seen her since just before he left New York and at the time she had declared he would not stay away long before she went off on some unexplained mission. They had never been what he would call close but their friendship had worked on both a disturbingly amused and dangerous level, and in the end he had gotten quite used to all her oddities and blatant flirtatiousness. She was strong and off the wall, and definitely not all there in mind, but once he had a handle on how to interact with her it was easier to do while still keeping his guard up. But that was a year ago and learned lessons feel quite distant right now.

“How are you?” he finally asks.

“Fantastic,” she says quickly, her face blank save for a small smile. Bringing her hands up in front of her she creates a tiny sphere of electrical pulses that skip from palm to palm and along her fingertips. “Doing a little hunting, giving people a little jolt of life.”

“Angela brought you back into The Company?” Mohinder is surprised at the potentially large turn in events.

Elle’s smile drops fast from her face and one last crackle sounds out before she quashes the electricity and says, “I’m more into the freelance thing now.”

Confused, Mohinder says, “So Angela…”

“Is a bitch who rules the roost with Bennet as her little dog.”

Mohinder muffles a surprised laugh at her language and the information she brings. He reaches his right arm up under his chin and angles his hand to scratch the back of his neck. “I shouldn’t be surprised. Bennet never could stay away from The Company. Despite words to the contrary.”

“And a promotion sweetened that deal.”

“She bought his compliance?” Mohinder is all wide-eyed wondering, feeling not nearly as naïve as he presents himself. “Everyone’s for sale, just name the price…Claire?”

Elle tilts her hand to the side and smirks at him. “What a great dad. Anything for the precious daughter who still can’t stand him.”

Mohinder folds his arms across his chest and looks at her questioningly, saying, “And she told you all of this? You’re not exactly friends if I recall.”

Her smirk still in place, she softens her eyes and they light up jovially as she looks off to the side and then back at him. “People talk when they’re upset—a lot—to anyone. Except you. You would just get quiet.”

The thought of some observational note about him in the back of Elle’s mental card catalogue makes Mohinder slightly uncomfortable but also beguiled at the reveal of the personal tell.

“I…from the time I was a child I learned not to burden others with my problems,” he says.

His confession finds Elle gripping the edge of the table as she leans forward. “But you were still upset. I would have zapped him in the face if I’d had the chance.”

“I’m sure you would have,” Mohinder says, far too knowingly of Elle’s proclivity for remorseless violence. Seeing her annoyed expression he decides a change in subject might be best, but he is still curious about her being here.

“So you’re here on a job?”

“No,” her tone is light and brief.

Confused again, Mohinder looks at the floor then back at her. “Then to what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

A hurt look flashes across her face and a stroke of panic courses through him that commands him to rectify any unintentionally upset feelings. “I’m not complaining,” he rushes, “I’m just surprised…I…I haven’t really seen anyone since I left.”

As the words cross his lips he realizes the actual extent of the admission. It is not just that he has not seen anyone from his life in America since he left but that he has not spoken with any of them (except for Molly twice a week over the phone and Nathan once a month as a superficial check in) since he set foot on the plane. Elle’s pout takes on new meaning. Being able to breathe again has come at a price.

“I—,”

“You were supposed to come back!”

Her declaration is forceful and she jumps to her feet, emphasizing the point. The glare she levels him with demands a response and she already knows it is not adequate as it spills forth and fills the distance between them.

“I never said when I was coming back,” he says and moves towards her. He sighs when she turns away from him and pulls out a chair to sit on. “Coming to America changed my life, for good and bad. But so much happened so fast and I…I needed time away from it all.”

He walks to the chair on the other side of the table from her and sits down. “It’s not that I don’t miss any of my other life but…it feels good to be on my own, away from it all.”

Elle quirks an eyebrow at him and stretches her arms across the table, resting her chin on the surface. “Sounds like prison to me.”

Unsure as to what she is referring Mohinder says, “You don’t understand.”

“What? That people take what they want then leave—forget you were ever there? That all you want to be is exactly what they insist on and it’s still not enough.”

Within the unclear logic of her spiraling argument Mohinder thinks he makes the connection. Elle spent most of her life locked up in The Company, at her father’s discretion, where she was experimented on and tortured all to create a perfectly psychotic field agent. She was isolated and emotionally stunted for The Company’s personal gain and if—when—any mistakes were made and her services were no longer required she was rebuked and cut loose, left to fend for herself.

People he could have called upon for reinforcement, on the other hand, surrounded Mohinder. Only a couple may be willing to go all the way for him but that was still a couple more than Elle, and acquaintances would still be willing to engage in a tentative work deal. Yet he had walked away from it, choosing to cut himself off. In Elle’s eyes he is choosing isolation—over her.

Mohinder takes a hold of her left hand with his right and gives her a quick squeeze, turning his lips up with a small smile. “I didn’t mean to leave you like that,” he says holding her gaze steadily.

A smile, shy then confident, lights up her face and she sits up (still keeping her left hand in Mohinder’s hold) and props her chin up on her right hand. Angling her face this way and that he can feel her moving into flirting mode.

“I forgive you,” she singsongs. “For now. But I’m going to have to watch you very closely.”

“I’m sure I’ll survive,” Mohinder grins. Dropping her hand he clasps his together and rests them on the table, front and center, while he relaxes back against he chair.

Elle trails the fingers of her left hand across the tabletop and lifts her eyes to the ceiling. Settling back on Mohinder she observes. “What are you doing all by your lonesome in this house?”

“Trying for some peace of mind,” Mohinder half jokes.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Maybe I do, but I’ve got some time to work it out of you,” Elle sits back with a smile, sticking her tongue out between her teeth.

“Absolutely not,” Mohinder laughs through the seriousness that tenses his body as he guesses at the direction she is going in. “You’re more than welcome to stay as my guest but I’m not looking for a roommate.”

“Mohinder,” Elle exaggeratedly whines and pouts at him.

“As much as I’m happy to see you—and I am, it really is a pleasant surprise—but…this place is not for you.”

She looks undeterred as she says, “But for tonight?”

Mohinder sighs a smile at her and folds his arms across his chest. “You can stay.”

Her toothy grin makes her look like a little kid and her excitedly clapping her hands only highlights the distinction of a young girl in a young woman’s body.

“We can have a sleepover—with scary movies—and s’mores!”

“Uh, sleepover? Well I…sure…and…what are…s’mores?” Mohinder finds himself at a loss for whatever it is they are now talking about. He stands up and walks to the sink, running the water and grabbing a glass from the cupboard, while Elle babbles on behind him.

“I don’t know. Daddy used to give me magazines to read while I was…whatever…**YM**—maybe **Seventeen**—friends ate s’mores…I think there’s chocolate—and marshmallows!”

It sounds tasty enough and Mohinder turns around with the water and mutters, “I suppose we could do some grocery shopping,” but Elle is still talking over him, her excitement superceding anything he wants.

“This will be so much fun.” She jumps to her feet. “And we’ll stay up all night and talk about all the boys we like—,”

Mohinder coughs through his gulp of water at her assertion and says, “I’m sure you’ll have plenty to talk about,” then places the glass behind him on the counter.

“Don’t you?” she asks a little too interested in his response.

“Not exactly,” Mohinder clears this throat. “It’s, uh, not a top priority for me.”

“That’s too bad,” Elle says, approaching him with a predatory look in her unblinking eyes. “Because I know for a fact that there is a someone who has his eyes on you.”

Surprised, Mohinder goes wide eyed and his breath hitches at the combination of her being up in his space tracing her right index finger up his chest, across his shoulders and lightly up the side of his neck which she then cups aggressively, and the unanticipated confession she has chosen to share with him. Knowing Elle it could be no more than part of a flirty ruse to make him uneasy for her own enjoyment, but still there is the remotest of possibilities that she speaks the truth.

“What? I—uh—no—I—I seriously doubt there’s any boy—,”

“Man.”

Mohinder freezes, caught up in her unwavering stare. “Man,” he says slowly, “who is…”

His voice drifts to off to nothing, as he is unable to finish the thought. His heart pounds so firm in is chest he can feel it against his skin, clamoring to break through his bones and flesh, and he looks away. But he cannot ignore Elle’s voice.

“He thinks about you a lot,” she teases out very slowly, softly. “Bringing your name up in the middle of boring conversations.”

“Maybe he actually thinks I’m boring,” Mohinder defensively jokes, embarrassed and confused (and curious, he must admit) about her implications.

“No,” Elle disagrees with shake of her head and trails her hand from the back of his neck down his chest and grabs a handful of his shirt. She hooks her left arm over his right shoulder and stares knowing blue eyes up at him. “He thinks you’re anything but that. If he knew I was here he would be so…jealous.”

Utterly flustered, Mohinder makes the effort to steady his breathing all the while certain his awkwardness is apparent in his tensed shoulders and rigid upholding of his upper body, a strong contrast to Elle curving her body into him.

“I just…not sure, but if you…”

Elle presses even closer and says, “He wants to do bad things with you.”

“Yes…well—of course,” Mohinder stammers and Elle giggles. “And…uh…so a horror movie?”

“Definitely,” Elle says and zaps him with an electric charge that causes him to jump and painfully smack his lower back into the edge of the counter.

Mohinder grabs her hands and pushes her away, breaking free from her hold, and admonishes her, his mouth pursed and eyes flared. She shrugs her shoulders and he warns, “Do not do that—or you can forget about the movie.”

Rolling her eyes and appearing slightly put out by his rash tone she says, “Just having a little fun. You should try it.”

“I know how to have fun—,”

“So you wanna know who it is?”

“Who?” Mohinder carefully and playfully avoids her not so subtle segue.

She stomps her foot and he immediately looks to her clenched fists for any traces of electricity, but she keeps herself controlled, if still very irritated. Relief settles in. There is always a level of uncertainty when dealing with Elle and his body had worn the scars of her petulance, but even those had faded with time and seeing her purposefully not lash out is a reminder of the progress their friendship thankfully still finds at its core.

“I don’t like it when you play dumb,” she says with a distasteful whine.

Mohinder drops his shoulders, somewhat acquiescing to her frustration with him. “The truth,” he says, “is I don’t want to know.”

“Mohinder!”

“We should go pick up the movie.”

The definitiveness of his tone snaps her mouth shut and cuts off the tantrum he can see brewing beneath her wrinkled nose and narrowed eyes. His insistence is only half a truth. Of course he would be a daft liar to say he is not curious to whom Elle is referring. Just the feeling of being wanted _in that way _is exciting and frightening, and Mohinder’s body buzzes with his minds arousal.

But he is also trying to maintain a healthy arm’s length from the past and, if anything, Elle’s teasing tells him it is most likely someone he knows. Limited options aside, Mohinder is not ready for such knowledge and what ties, currently tenuous, it may transform into something strained or even…

Besides, with the self-imposed distance it would be stupid to encourage himself to think about something that would be best not happening, that would doubtfully happen anyway. It may be denial but he likes where he is in his life and has no desire to mess it about, especially based on the adolescent taunts of an electricity hopped sociopath who has a sweet streak as intense as her mean one.

He watches her pull her mouth into a twisted line. A second later she hmmphs, “Fine…is the video store far?”

“You could use the fresh air,” Mohinder says and, walking forwards, grabs her by the shoulders and turns her around, marching her to the front door.

He grabs his fall coat from the hallway closet, feeling the pocket for his wallet, as Elle steps outside and slowly saunters down the front steps. Locking the door behind him he shrugs the coat on, zips it up and walks to Elle is now standing on the sidewalk looking annoyed with her arms crossed and one hip jutted out to the side with attitude.

Mohinder nods to the right and begins the walk to Bloor Street, listening for the click of her boots as she turns to follow him. It is a crisp October afternoon and leaves of red, orange, yellow, brown and still some green, reach up like an unstoppable fire to the sky. Their vibrancy makes him think of India and it strikes a surprisingly perfect contrasting balance to the cool breeze that nips by them.

Mohinder puts his hands in his jacket pocket and tries to enjoy the sensation of a casual stroll. Suddenly he feels Elle slip her left arm through the crook of his right one. He looks down at her and she offers him a smile before looking ahead and resting her head against the side of his shoulder. Mohinder smiles. Looking forward he can already see the splashes of coloured movement awaiting them.

 


End file.
